


The Dalton School Job

by SVZ



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Con Artists, Consulting agency, F/F, F/M, M/M, New York City
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 01:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SVZ/pseuds/SVZ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Leverage!Glee AU] “The rich and powerful take what they want. We steal it back for you. Sometimes bad guys make the best good guys. We provide … Leverage.” Usually, Kurt waits for the cases to come to them. However, after finding out that his favorite handsome barista (ex-music teacher) Blaine Anderson had been fired from the Dalton School without a good reason - Kurt is determined to take on this job himself even if most of his team gives him a hard time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dalton School Job

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started out as pure wish fulfillment since I've always wanted Brittany to be written more like Parker from Leverage and I've also wanted Chris Colfer to play a spy/assassin. A mastermind con artist is close enough! I have photosets depicting the roles of all the characters [here](http://ofunicorndust.tumblr.com/post/15268188541/the-rich-and-powerful-take-what-they-want-we) and [here](http://ofunicorndust.tumblr.com/post/15327281826/the-rich-and-powerful-take-what-they-want-we).

_Five Years Ago_

_  
_

Twenty years old, and he has more money than most people manage to earn in a lifetime. 

It’s a product of a joint effort; Kurt has Rachel to thank for helping him, but that’s not surprising. They’ve always had each other’s backs since high school. Once his dad and Carole had gotten married, that made his crush on Finn creepy and more _Flowers in the Attic_ than romantic which meant that he and Rachel stopped sniping at each other long enough to realize that they had more in common than they’d expected. 

After they had found out that the hospital had been negligent with its care for its patients (and their overworked, understaffed nurses been responsible for putting Kurt’s dad into a coma that nearly killed him), he and Rachel had blackmailed the board of directors.

 It would ruin the hospital’s reputation if word got out - especially since his dad was a former congressman. The blackmail and photographic evidence of a couple of their _indiscretions_ had just been the cherry on top. 

 In the end, there had been _a lot_ of money.

More money than he or Rachel knew what to do with - and certainly enough that paying their respective tuitions at NYU wouldn’t be a problem. 

They could go back to school after withdrawing for a semester. They could get their degrees, try their luck, and pursue musical theater and fashion in the city that never sleeps like they had planned in high school when they were stuck in a tiny town in Ohio. 

“Or we could not go back,” Rachel suggests over pizza (no cheese on her half) in her room. In her old pajamas from high school and her hair in pigtails, Rachel looks very young and not all like the girl in the short skintight corset dress and thigh-highs from last night. At Kurt’s frown, she clarifies, “We could go back to New York, but we don’t have to go back to NYU.”  

She’s staring at Kurt intently, eyes dark and serious, and wholly expectant.

Kurt snorts. “That’s ridiculous.” 

“Is it?” Rachel raises an eyebrow and _tsks_. “We just managed to blackmail the entire board of directors of St. Maria’s. I didn’t get into Tisch so I’m majoring in something that’s practical, but not something I’m thoroughly passionate about just so I can go to auditions on the side. Your major advisor has serious doubts about your proposed independent ‘Fashion Journalism’ concentration and you’ve told me you don’t think he’s going to approve it.” 

“I don’t know what you’re saying.”

It’s a blatant lie, Kurt knows that every point Rachel is making is valid and it’s terrifying - because going back to school has always been their plan, it’s always their _safe_ plan. Taking a semester off because his dad’s seriously ill, working small jobs in Lima and remembering why they wanted to get the hell out. 

And Rachel can read him too well and knows he’s lying. 

He knows that she’s probably feeling the same adrenaline rush that he’s feeling - about the money stashed away in identical silver briefcases and knowing that they will never have to decide between groceries or a 7-day or 30-day MetroCard.

They will never have to worry about part-time jobs either because their biggest concern right now is figure out how to keep all of this from their parents.  

In the back of his head, Kurt makes a note that he needs to get a Swiss bank account by like, tomorrow. 

“I’m not saying that we should blackmail _innocent_ people for fun and profit.” 

The emphasis Rachel puts on ‘innocent’ makes Kurt look up, incredulous.  “ You _can’t_ be serious.” Since they’ve been back in Rachel’s house, Kurt has been tallying all the possible what-if’s of their little plan and there had been a dozen ways where it could have fallen apart or gotten dangerous. 

(Kurt had also been thinking of all the ways they could have improved their hastily-put-together plan, but he’s not telling Rachel that.) 

“But we could help people who have been wronged,” Rachel suggests lightly, shrugging her shoulders. “There’s a lot of powerful and corrupt people in New York. Or so I hear.” She grins.  

“We might not get so lucky next time.” They had been fortunate that Willis and Gladman weren't violent and wanted them to go away quietly. What if one of them had pulled a gun on them in the hotel room? 

"Kurt, we pretended that we were high-class escorts for Mr. Willis and Mr. Gladman. Did you see me? I was _on_.” Rachel bumps his shoulder with hers.  “We managed to help a lot of people with the photos we have. And as long as we have them, they can’t do anything.” 

Rachel’s proposition is insane but it’s too tempting to say yes and too final if he says no. 

Kurt opts for a third option: 

“Hey, that’s my mine!” Rachel’s squawk of rage after he steals a slice of her half of the pizza is beautiful.

 It’s also enough to distract her momentarily. 

“I’ll think about it,” Kurt says once she remembers she’s pestering him into going into the Robin Hood business with her.  He means it. 

After a crash-course of figuring out what to do with briefcases full of too much cash, it seems like the right choice. 

Maybe it’s because he watched too many crime heists movies as a kid, but Rachel’s idea of helping others sounds like a good idea after growing up listening to his dad complain about corruption in politics and how unfair everything is to innocent people. His dad was the champion of the underdog, or so all the newspapers say. 

Kurt likes to think he takes after him. 

He’s seen his Dad and Carole worry about money and his future student loans. 

He has read about corrupt companies and has seen a hundred Mr. Gladmans on the streets of New York who falsify paperwork, understaff hospitals, overwork current staff (any of them could have been Carole), and pocket the extra money to spend on booze and sex. It’s not fair to people who are struggling to pay the bills, people who when sick and riding up ridiculous medical bills aren’t getting sufficient care. 

Kurt had never seen such excess until he had been invited into the homes of the rich; he had never known that it had been possible to live so comfortably in Ohio and his dad had been a politician. 

Maybe it’s a little naive to think that he and Rachel can change the world (or at least New York) into a better place.

But they’re going to try. 

\--

“Do you know anyone who is good at forging papers?” Kurt asks Rachel in a low whisper, two days back into the city while they are apartment-hunting for something within their nicer budget. 

The real estate agent is standing at the nook that masquerades as a kitchen,trying her best to look like she’s not listening in. She has been eyeing them the entire time, probably wondering if they could even afford anything that’s not in Washington Heights and has even suggested that they try Hoboken two minutes into their meeting.

He’s also pretty sure that the real estate agent thinks that he and Rachel are a couple which is not helped by the fact that he and Rachel are looking for an apartment _together_.

Rachel’s entire face lights up. 

“We’ll need someone good,” Kurt says. “So not the person who gave you that awful fake ID.” 

Rachel rolls her eyes, mumbles something under breath about how her ID worked on one bouncer, and leans into Kurt’s personal space. “I know just the person. Really sweet girl from my art history class. Her name’s Tina and she’s kind of a magician at forging stuff. Her dad’s an art expert so she knows her stuff.” 

“Perfect.” Kurt smiles sincerely.

He turns to the real estate agent. “No, this apartment has no natural lighting and there’s only one tiny bedroom. Have I mentioned that my father is a congressman? I don’t think he would approve of me living here.” 

Kurt doesn’t like to pull the ‘my dad’s an important congressman’ card, especially since his dad hadn’t been rolling in dough before getting elected nor after, but Ms. Andrews didn’t have know that.

But honestly. 

 _Hoboken_. 

“Careful,” Rachel says, annoyingly sing-song in his ear after Ms. Andrews is visibly flustered and tells them that the next apartment will be in a much nicer neighborhood and inquires about their budget again. “I can see that you like playing a role. Don’t enjoy it too much,” she teases. 

Kurt rolls his eyes and reminds Ms. Andrews that they’re looking for a two bedroom apartment, but Rachel speaks the truth - he came close to auditioning to Tisch with Rachel two years ago, but he didn’t at the last minute. 

He does miss stepping into a character’s shoes - fleshing the character out, making up their personal history, playing god over an imaginary person. He’s always been good at that.

He huffs a breath and smiles to himself; _once a theater nerd, always a theater nerd…_


End file.
